Warmth
by Miss Chelle
Summary: Why couldn't Ivan have what Antonio takes for granted? Russia/Spain
1. Chapter 1

_(I took my sweet time realizing that, as an Authoress, I have full rights to throw together any two characters I see fit. Why Spain and Russia, you ask? Because, chickpeas, I'm half Spanish and half Russian. Enjoy.)_

Warmth

Chapter one

Russia was always cold.

No matter how much he bundled up, how fierce his winter sun shone, he was always cold. The clamminess clung to his pale skin like a bodysuit. There was no escape for him. Forever frozen in his own body, while he wished for warmth constantly.

He hated it. The snow and the ice, beautiful in their own way, was lost on him, the frozen one. Every second of every day, he wished for sunlight. For the sweet kiss of warmth, never known to him.

"….Sunflowers…sunflowers and warmth…"

Ivan forgot where he was, another useless world meeting, and mumbled aloud. No one noticed. No one ever does. His eyes were drawn to the European nations further down the table. France, The Italy brothers, and……_him._

Russia's eyes narrowed significantly, but his smile stayed plastered on his face. His smile never changed. Frozen, like the rest of him.

Spain. Antonio something or other. Russia didn't know this nation personally, but that didn't stop him from hating the tan skinned nation with all of his hulking being. Spain. The country where the sun never sets. His gloved hands were clenched beneath the table.

Why? What sick whim of fate placed him in a wasteland of ice and snow, and put that empty-headed, carefree Spaniard in constant warmth and happiness? Look at him. Surrounded with his brothers, surrounded by _love. _Why not Ivan?

Russia spared a glance to his two sisters. Belarus was staring at him with adoration for who knows how long, fingering her ever present dagger. Ivan repressed a shudder. Ukraine wasn't even here. Again. No doubt avoiding him because of her long standing debt. Is this all that he had? A psycho and a cheapskate? This is his family? Why??

What had Ivan done to merit him unworthy of family and warmth and happiness?

And why, why couldn't he have what he wanted the most?

(_Okay, short, I know. But I'll update soon. Poor Vanya!)_


	2. Chapter 2

_(I wasn't sure if I should toggle POVs for this. I decided not to. Because angsting Russia is just one of my favorite things in the world. We'll hear from Antonio later.)_

Warmth

Chapter 2

Russia could not say that he was social. Most of the World knew him, that was for damn sure, but friends? He only had a scant few nations that he liked and respected enough to truly call his friend. The Baltics did not count, in Ivan's mind, as anyone who had to be forced to stay with you was not a friend.

Most people did not think he was aware of this. How could he not be? How could he not see the cringes when he entered the room, and how could he not hear the muttered curses that seemed to follow him. It was like glass being shoved into his already cold heart. Added insult to his injury. But no one sees that. All they see is the smile. The happy smile on his round, boyish face. After a while, he had begun to hate that, as well.

Not Antonio. Not that one. He was open to everything, the good and the bad. The people he knew, Ivan noted, _really_ knew him. The Italian twins, and Prussia and France. Those were friends. True friends. Something that Ivan seemed to lack. How long has it been since Ivan had been that close to anyone? Since he was a child? How pathetic.

He was with them right now. The Bad Friends Trio, as they were called (Did Ivan have a gang with a cool name? No.) were together, laughing loudly and being over all mischievous. France, a Nation that Russia was well acquainted with, caught his eye, and quirked his eyebrow in silent question. Ivan did nothing. Francis can come to his own conclusions as to why he was being watched. Well, apparently not, since Francis pointed out his scrutiny to his two friends. Prussia scowled, and Spain shrugged. Neither of them had anything to do with Russia. And Russia had nothing to do with any of them. It was only out of a sense of curiosity (Jealousy) that he was watching them. Spain in particular. Always Spain, the happy laughing nation with the tan and the never-setting sun, and the love--

Ivan got up and left, leaving The Bad Friends perplexed. It wasn't like the big-boned (chubby. Spain was tooth pick thin, by the way.) Nation to go around, wishing he was someone else. He was Russia! Mother Russia! Everyone will become one with him someday. (Why hadn't they yet?) He has the largest country in the world. (Mostly a large barren wasteland that nobody likes.) He….umm. He was the tallest of all the Nations. (Really, looking down on everybody else isn't all it's cracked up to be.)

This was really sad now. Couldn't Ivan think of at least one positive thing about himself without putting himself down in the very same thought bubble? He passed a mirror hanging on the wall. Looking at the reflection, he was dissatisfied. That damn smile. It was mostly (Entirely.) out of habit that he was smiling. Silver hair? Well, that's not too bad. Prussia has it, too, and he's….what's the word? Awesome. Purple eyes. One of the things Russia really liked about himself. Purple eyes were pretty damn cool. He had a fairly big nose. Most of his people did. Not that bad, either. He touched the scarf given to him by Ukraine long ago. That, as far as he knew, was given to him out of love. The fake-smile faltered a bit, showing a flicker of the sudden affection of his older sister. Well, maybe things aren't all that bad for him…..

_(D'aww. I was planning to make Russia to angst more about other aspects of himself and all that nonsense, but I couldn't. It was bumming me out. And I love all those things about Russia! So I ended on a semi-happy note. Next chapter, He'll talk to Spain, and stuff'll happen. Ciao~)_


End file.
